


Best of Times - Chris

by Tarlan



Series: Best of Times [2]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, Gen, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris recalls the best and worst Christmas of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best of Times - Chris

A warm and comfortable silence descended, and then Nathan spoke up.

"How about you, Chris. Best of times? Worst of times?"

Chris looked around at the expectant faces, and he grinned when he noticed JD take a cautious sip of the whiskey and grimace. He reached over for his own glass and debated whether he should top it off but, truth be told, he'd had enough alcohol for one night and despite appearances, he rarely drank heavily.

"Best of times? How about I tell the worst of times first."

He saw Buck's eyes cloud over and knew his oldest friend was thinking about those dark days after Sarah and Adam were murdered. That had been a Christmas holding very little joy for he had missed them so much but, as bad as it was, it could not compare to his last one spent with his father.

"I was seventeen. Old enough to marry and to drive a car but I wasn't old enough to escape the traditional Larabee Family Christmas. Trouble was, my older brother _had_ been old enough so he wasn't there to take some of the misery. I bore the brunt of it that year."

As he spoke, Chris's thoughts returned to that last Christmas with his parents...

He woke up with a start, wondering what had brought him from such a deep sleep so rapidly. The luminous dial on the clock said it was only a little after 4 a.m. on Christmas morning and the darkness of his room seemed to confirm the time. It came again; the sound of someone moving around on the stairs and Chris recognized the voice that gave a muffled curse, though he could not make out the words. They were slurred from too much booze. Chris chewed his lower lip as another thump echoed through the otherwise silent house.

His Dad had spent a lot more time out drinking these last few months and not coming home until the early hours. When he went to bed last evening, Chris knew tonight would be no different though he wondered where his Dad was getting the money from. He had overheard his parents fighting on numerous occasions recently, about the Bank threatening to foreclose on the loans after the last harvest failed to bring in enough even to cover the interest. It was the same for farmers all over the Mid-West but his Dad was a proud man; too proud to go begging for more time to pay back his debts.

That was what the first of the arguments had been about. His Mom had gone to the bank manager to plead their case - against his father's wishes. Chris had not been around at the time for he was still expected to attend school even though his Dad had tried various means to keep him at home so he could work the farm. His teachers had cottoned on to the constant stream of sick notes and family funerals many years ago, after his Grandma _died_ for the second time in one semester. They had threatened his father with a court order if Chris failed to attend school without producing a doctor's note or a copy of the death certificate for whichever relative had passed away this time. Secretly, Chris had been pleased because he had no intention of following his father's footsteps into working on the land. However, to escape that fate he had two choices: run away, or study hard and walk away to a better life.

There had been occasions recently, when running away had seemed the better choice.

His Dad was a big man with broad shoulders but, though tall for his age, Chris and his brother had inherited their mother's slighter frame. As a kid, Chris had adored his father's strength; swearing that he had to be the strongest man in the world even though it had been used against him more times than he could count. His father had always been quick to punish any transgression using a switch or his hand, even when Chris was little more than a toddler, but the frequency of those violent bouts had increased to frightening levels since his father started drinking so heavily.

Chris recalled the time, recently, when his Dad took a switch to his bare backside after he was held back after school in detention. It was his own fault for he'd let his temper get the better of him after one of his classmates said something derogatory about his mother. It didn't matter that it was the truth; that she did walk around in clothes that had seen better days long before they reached the rail in the thrift store. However, being poor was no reason to mock someone so Chris was not ashamed for slamming his fist into that kid's face.

When he explained it to his Dad it only made matters worse. Now he had come to hate the brute strength fueled by alcohol as his Dad took all his guilt at not providing for his wife and children out on his youngest son's bare flesh, and left Chris with welts that took weeks to fade away.

After that, things got progressively worse as his father started to believe he could deal with all of life's problems using his fists. None of them had been spared his anger and Chris was getting sick of hearing his Mom come up with one excuse or another for his Dad's violent behavior.

Another muffled slur of a curse followed a loud thump as his father tripped over the top step. Chris held his breath as he heard his Dad approach his bedroom door and only let it out when he carried on past without stopping. The door to his parents bedroom creaked open and then there was silence for a while.

"What the hell is she doing in here?"

Chris heard his sister's sharp cry of fear and realised she must have fallen asleep in their parents' bed earlier that night.

"Stop it. You're hurting her."

The sound of flesh hitting flesh brought Chris to his feet but he hesitated at the door to his room for a moment before plunging into the darkened hallway. His mother was crying. His sister was screaming hysterically... and his father was shouting about not telling him what he could or could not do in his own home. Chris stepped over the threshold, his young eyes wide with shock. His Mom was standing with her back to the corner of the room and he saw his sister cowering behind her. In front of them stood his father with one hand cradled into the other. Chris looked to his mother and saw she was holding her face.

"Mom?"

"Get out," his father snarled.

His father spun round so fast that he almost fell over; too drunk to coordinate his movement. He advanced on Chris; his face almost red with anger, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

"Said get out, boy, or do you want some of the same?"

Chris didn't need to understand the slurred words, for his father's stance told him what was in store for him if he did not back off... but Chris held his ground. He would take a beating if he had to but he wasn't going to let his Dad hit his Mom like that again. He shouted back with more bravado than he felt.

"You back off."

"What?" Disbelief flooded the drunken face as his Dad tried to focus on him.

"I said, you back off.

His father swung at him and Chris stepped back; the fist passing harmlessly in front of him.

"Why you little... It's all your fault. We could of had that harvest in on time if you hadn't let those teachers keep you in that useless school. Should of been working the farm not reading books."

"Don't you blame him. He's just a boy--"

"About time he became a man and took on some responsibility--"

"What does it matter? It's gone. It's all gone."

His father rounded on his Mom and lunged towards her, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her forward. She cried out in pain.

"Your fault. Needed strapping lads but you gave me two sissy's and a girl."

In two steps, Chris was behind his Dad. He grabbed hold of him and tried to break the grip his Dad had on his mother's long, flaxen hair. His father let go of his mother and they toppled backwards. Chris cried out as his head struck the door frame, the sound cut off as his father landed on him and knocked the air out of him. He tried to roll into a ball as his Dad regained his feet but to no avail. With the liquor adding even more strength to his enraged father, Chris was hauled off the floor, his head spinning when he felt a fist slam into the side of his head. He dropped to the floor, his vision blurring as his sight hovered on the edge of darkness. He could hear his mother screaming and then nothing.

Chris wasn't sure how long he was unconscious but he awoke to hear strange voices above him. He was still in his parents' room but it was swimming in red and blue lights.

"Don't try to move, son."

"Mom?"

"I'm here, Chris."

"Where's..?"

"He's not here. The Police arrested him."

There was nothing Chris could say, even if he wanted to. He groaned as they strapped on a neck brace and then lifted him onto the stretcher. His mother came with him, and she held his hand as he slipped in and out of consciousness on the ride to the hospital.

Chris focused back on the six men seated around him in the gaily-lit room. He stared at the misshapen Christmas tree with its explosion of tinsel and galaxy of stars perched precariously on top, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I spent Christmas Day in the ER having my head x-rayed and bandaged. Had a fractured skull from where I hit the door frame, and a broken jaw as a Christmas present from my father. Spent the rest of Christmas with one massive headache."

"What happened to your Dad?"

Chris gave JD a wry smile.

"My Mom refused to press charges, so they let him out once he sobered up. When they released me from the hospital I went home and told my Dad to sign on the line to give his parental consent, and then I packed my bags and walked to the nearest US Navy recruitment center wanting to be as far away from the farm as I could get. He refused at first. Kept telling me how sorry he was and made all kinds of promises to stay away from the booze."

Chris chuckled softly, his smile twisting in self-deprecation.

"But?"

Chris looked Vin straight in the eye, and his smile softened in pleasure as Chris acknowledged that strange empathy between them that had told Vin it wasn't the end of the story.

"But I never could forgive him for what he did to me... and then to my Mom. They lost the farm soon after that Christmas and he sunk deeper into bouts of self-pity so she took work wherever she could to support him and my sister. Scrubbing floors, waitressing at the truck stop. Worked herself into an early grave."

"Where is he now?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

Chris looked up with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Now, the best time I ever had? Well, let's just say I spent a fair few just like this one... sharing the day with people I do give a damn about. Can't think of any Christmas that can beat that."

"Well, I'll drink to that. To people we give a damn about."

Buck raised his glass in salute, and the others followed with echoes of Buck's sentiment. Chris smiled as he swallowed the final drop of whiskey from his glass, recalling his long telephone call to his sister and her kids earlier that day. He'd spoken with his brother soon after; reaffirming the family ties that still bound them. It had been a good day, and it was not over yet, and he would always look back on this day as one of those best times.

THE END

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Best of Times - Chris and Vin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/203110) by [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan)




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